Up In My Garret Bleak And Bare I Tilted Back On My Broken Chair, And My Three Old Pals Were With Me There, Hunger And Thirst And Cold; Hunger Scowled At His Scurvy Mate: Cold Cowered Down By The Hollow Grate, And I Hated Them With A Deadly Hate As Old As Life Is Old. So Up In My Garret That's Near The Sky I Smiled A Smile That Was Thin And Dry: "You've Roomed With Me Twenty Year," Said I, "Hunger And Thirst And Cold; But Now, Begone Down The Broken Stair! I've Suffered Enough Of Your Spite . . . So There!" Bang! Bang! I Slapped On The Table Bare A Glittering Heap Of Gold. "Red Flames Will Jewel My Wine To-Night; I'll Loose My Belt That You've Lugged So Tight; Ha! Ha! Dame Fortune Is Smiling Bright; The Stuff Of My Brain I've Sold; Canaille Of The Gutter, Up! Away! You've Battened On Me For A Bitter-Long Day; But I'm Driving You Forth, And Forever And Aye, Hunger And Thirst And Cold." So I Kicked Them Out With A Scornful Roar; Yet, Oh, They Turned At The Garret Door; Quietly There They Spoke Once More: "The Tale Is Not All Told. It's Au Revoir, But It's Not Good-By; We're Yours, Old Chap, Till The Day You Die; Laugh On, You Fool! Oh, You'll Never Defy Hunger And Thirst And Cold."